In a quiet street in Kano, 39-year-old Hafsat lives with an invisible pain rooted not in illness, but in the cultural violence committed against her two young daughters, both mutilated at birth.
“I remember both naming ceremonies, but not with joy,” she began, her voice shaking. “What should have been the happiest days of my life became the most painful.”
Hafsat’s first daughter was just seven days old when she was cut. That day, an elderly woman in her husband’s family took the child under the pretence of “preparation” for tradition. What followed were screams that still haunt Hafsat to this day.
“They cut her both down below and in her throat (With the belief it’s to help in preventing throat-related ailments). I cried all day,” she said.
When her second daughter was born three years later, Hafsat tried to save her from the genital mutilation her first had undergone. She endlessly pleaded with her husband’s relatives, but her pleas were ignored. During the naming ceremony, they struck again while she was distracted. Another scream. Another baby mutilated. Another heartbreak.
“I felt defeated. Like I had no power in my own child’s life,” she added.
The Menace That is Female Genital Mutilation (FGM)
Female Genital Mutilation is the partial or total removal of the external female genitalia, or other injury to the female genital organs, for non-medical reasons. It is a harmful traditional practice that is most often carried out on girls between infancy and age 15.
According to the World Health Organization (WHO), this mutilation can be in various forms ranging from Clitoridectomy, the partial or total removal of the clitoris, Excision which entails removal of the clitoris and the labia minora (inner lips), sometimes also the labia majora (outer lips) Infibulation that is Narrowing of the vaginal opening by cutting and sewing together the labia and lastly, all other harmful procedures to the female genitalia for non-medical purposes (such as pricking, piercing, and scraping).
The practice remains a deeply rooted cultural practice in many parts of Nigeria, especially in rural communities. It is often hidden, silenced, or normalised, passed from one generation to another with dangerous myths of morality, purity, and discipline.
In May 2015, the Nigerian National Assembly passed the Violence Against Persons Prohibition (VAPP) Act, a landmark law designed to address the escalating issue of violence against individuals, particularly gender-based violence.
The Act was introduced to bridge gaps in existing laws, providing a comprehensive framework to criminalise various forms of violence, including domestic abuse, sexual violence, and harmful traditional practices like FGM. Despite the existence of this powerful law, FGM persists in Nigeria.
As recently as 2024, the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) revealed that Nigeria accounts for the third highest burden of FGM globally, and “22% of the 68 million girls at risk of FGM between 2015 and 2030.”
An estimated 19.9 million Nigerian women and girls have been subjected to this harmful practice.
Nationally, about 20% of women aged 15-49 have undergone FGM. However, the numbers vary widely across regions and ethnic groups.
In Kano State, where Hafsat lives, the prevalence of FGM is lower compared to southern states and is often performed in secrecy by traditional practitioners known locally as wanzamai, especially in rural villages like the one her husband hails from.
Silence is an enforcer…
The Public Relations Officer (PPRO) of the Kano State Police Command, SP Abdullahi Haruna Kiyawa, in an interview, acknowledged that FGM is a crime under Nigerian law and punishable under the Violence Against Persons (Prohibition) Act (VAPP Act) and the Child Rights Act. However, he emphasised that enforcement has been a challenge.
“We rarely receive direct reports of FGM,” he explained. “In most cases, people are either afraid to speak up or don’t even know it’s illegal.”
For Hafsat, breaking that silence didn’t come easily. For years, she carried the pain and guilt of what happened to her daughter in silence, afraid of backlash from family members and neighbours who still view FGM as a cultural obligation. “I thought speaking out would bring disgrace to my family or even get me into trouble,” she said, her voice trembling. “But when I learned from a radio program that it’s actually a crime, something shifted in me. I realised I wasn’t alone and I had to speak for my child.”
When I approached her for an interview, she said something in the way I asked made her feel seen and not judged. “I felt like you really wanted to understand, not just report,” she explained. “That gave me the courage to finally talk.”
Even then, it took time for Hafsat to gather the courage. She struggled with the fear of being judged or rejected by her community. “I kept asking myself, what if they say I’m betraying my culture?” she confessed. “But then I thought about my daughter’s future, which was more important than what anyone would say.” Hafsat’s case sheds light on the invisible barriers many mothers face that keep FGM hidden, and victims voiceless.
Rashida Aminu, Head of Sexual and Gender-Based Violence and the Spokesperson with the National Agency for the Prohibition of Trafficking in Persons (NAPTIP) in Kano, said the agency’s experience with FGM-related cases reveals a disturbing trend of silence. “People do not open up. Even when mothers are unhappy about what happened, they feel powerless due to fear of divorce, societal shame, or rejection,” she said.
Hafsat’s experience highlights this reality. “I considered reporting, but I’m scared,” she said. “If you speak out, you could lose your children or your home. I have nowhere else to go.”
“My husband is a traditional man who listens more to his older brother than to his wife”. After the first incident, Hafsat objected to the practice. But her husband silenced her.
“He warned me never to speak of it again. He said a woman must support the culture of her husband’s people.”
When she protested again after their second daughter was cut, he threatened to send her back to her late father’s house, a threat she believes he may one day carry out.
“I live with fear. We hardly speak now unless it’s about money or food,” she added. “This has killed the peace in our marriage.”
FGM has no health benefits. Instead, it causes severe pain, infections, childbirth complications, emotional trauma, and long-term reproductive issues. Hafsat shared how her daughters cried for days after the mutilation
“My first daughter had an infection. I had to take her secretly to a health centre,” Hafsat said. “Even now, they complain of pain while urinating”
But beyond physical pain, the emotional scars are deeper. “They no longer smile like before. It’s like something was taken not just from their bodies, but from their soul.
Commenting on this, Dr. Aisha Bello, a paediatrician specialist in child health and trauma recovery, explains that the symptoms described by Hafsat are not uncommon in girls who have undergone FGM. “Recurrent urinary tract infections, painful urination, and long-term reproductive complications are among the most reported consequences of the practice,” she explained.
“What makes it worse is when these children suffer in silence, and parents are too afraid to seek timely medical care due to cultural pressure or fear of exposure,” She added.
The emotional and psychological impact can be just as severe. Child Psychologist Ibrahim Sule noted that even at a young age, girls can internalise trauma. “Pain linked to a trusted adult or caregiver, especially when it’s not understood, can result in anxiety, withdrawal, or fear of touch. These signs are often dismissed or misinterpreted,” he said. “In the case of Hafsat’s children, seeking help was the right step.
Efforts to end FGM in Nigeria are ongoing. Civil society groups, faith-based organisations and international agencies like the United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund (UNICEF) and United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) continue to run awareness campaigns. But challenges persist, especially in areas where silence and tradition override laws and rights. Experts recommend more community-based dialogues, survivor-led storytelling, and legal support for victims who wish to speak out.
Speaking on what the Kano State NAPTIP is doing to help victims and mothers like Hafsat, its spokesperson, Rashida Aminu, highlighted that the agency currently provides legal support and counselling for victims and mothers like Hafsat, adding also that more still needs to be done in terms of community sensitisation and the establishment of safe spaces. “We try to work with traditional leaders, religious leaders, and institutions to shift harmful narratives, but the stigma is still very strong. We need more public education, and we need to assure mothers that they will not be left alone,” she added.
There’s also a need to empower women economically, so they can stand up to harmful practices without the fear of abandonment. For Hafsat, hope lies in her daughters’ healing and education.
“What would make me happiest”, she says, “is to see them grow up safe, educated, and free from this harmful tradition.”
Ever had a moment where Nigeria’s systems made life harder—or unexpectedly easier? We want to hear about your personal experiences that reflect how politics or public systems affect daily life in Nigeria. Share your story with us here—we’d love to hear from you!
